Heart Thaw (18 page)

Chapter Twelve

“Ella, wait a minute. Why are you pulling down this driveway? Oh my God, this party is
at
Jeremy Stinson’s fucking house?”

I shake my head, staring at the huge Tudor-style mansion we’re pulling up to, the lawn littered with dozens of haphazardly parked cars, the windows glowing with dim light and shaking with pulsing, heavy bass beats.

“Um, I may have left that detail out. So, you said the break-up was mutual, right?”

She looks at me, and for the first time since I didn’t say Trent’s name, her look isn’t pure ice.

It’s more like pure begging for forgiveness.

“Wait. Is this that douchehole who wanted to do the whole open relationship thing?” Trent asks from the back seat.

His laid-back posture is gone, and he sits up stiffly, his body crackling with fierce, furious energy.

“You remember Jeremy?” Ella asks coolly.

“Of course. He hung at our house a few times and actually told me he was planning on asking you to be his fuck buddy after high school ended for you guys.”

The disgust could not be clearer in his voice.

“I haven’t seen him since the summer after my senior year,” I say, like I’m defending myself.

Not that I need to. I know I don’t need to. But I do anyway. Ella looks back and forth between the two of us like she’s watching a tennis match.

“If you want to leave, it’s fine,” she says in a voice that’s so flat and petulant, it’s very clear it will be very
not
fine if we leave.

“No, it’s fine,” I rush, wanting to go back to that warm bonded feeling we were embracing when she was spackling makeup on my face and forcing me into skin-tight clothes.

“Let’s go then.”

She gets out of the car and marches off ahead of us. When I get out, Trent tries to take my hand in his.

“What are you doing?” I hiss, yanking my hand away and stuffing it deep in my pocket.

“It’s icy as hell and those stupid heels are four inches tall. I’d prefer not to have to cart you to the ER with a broken ass on Christmas,” he snaps.

Like life just loves screwing with me, my heel settles on a patch of ice, and I wobble precariously before Trent wraps an arm around my waist. I look up, frantic over the fact that Ella may have seen it all. But she’s already walking into the house pulsing with noise and light.

I stop in the driveway, knowing full well she could be peeking through the windows or something equally snoopy. But I’m willing to bet she’s beelining it for Antonia to check out her Bettie Page look.

“Trent, we need to, um, talk,” I say, catching my bottom lip between my teeth and biting down hard.

“Okay.” He uses my scarf to tug me closer. “There was a hell of a lot of mistletoe at your mom’s house. Do you think I could have gotten away with kissing you under it? Or would everyone’s head explode?”

He makes an explosion sound with his mouth, and I remember when he used to do that for hours as a kid, driving his cars over each other on the living room rug. He was always making them fly off furniture and ‘explode’ in mid-air. 

He’s smiling at me, his canines gleaming hungrily in the night, and I have this sudden thought about what his son would look like. I think about what Georgia said about the possibility of Trent having a kid somewhere in Vernon he doesn’t even know about, and I claw at my scarf and the top buttons of my coat, suddenly overheated.

“No.” I shake my head hard and try to pull away from him, but he winds my scarf around his hand and pulls me closer. “You can’t kiss me under the mistletoe at my mother’s house.” I take a deep breath and look into his dark eyes. “Trent, you can’t kiss me anywhere anymore.”

He lets the scarf drop and his jaw goes tight.

“Right. Okay. So, I don’t want to be
that asshole guy
, but you were naked and moaning in my bed
and
my shower this morning, right? I didn’t just have a very explicit dream about that, did I?”

“Oh God.” I press my hands to my cheeks and actually feel my skin go hot from the blush. “Okay. So, we did that. We did, and it was…”

I search my vocabulary for a word that expresses what happened between us, but doesn’t encourage him to try anything again because we just can’t.

Cannot.

Mind blowing. Exquisite. Panty-dropping. Holy mother of God hot as hell.

“It was really nice.”

I am the lamest person who ever lived.

“Nice?” He crooks an eyebrow, then smiles, this slow, smoldering lift of his lips. “Gauntlet thrown. I get it, Sadie. You’ll be happy to know, I love constructive criticism. And practice. Damn, I love practice,” he murmurs.

“I thought you were mad at me,” I choke out, searching for any way to put the brakes on this, because I’m a hell of a lot closer than I should be to doing things I shouldn’t even be contemplating with him.

“It’s Christmas. Season of forgiveness. Plus that, you’re staying.” He fingers the fringe of the scarf that’s splayed over my collarbone, moving it with the gentle push of the tip of his finger.

“I’m staying for Mom,” I insist. I lock eyes with him, and it’s like he’s hypnotizing me in the driveway, under the huge, silver moon. “And Ella. And Georgia.”

I clamp my mouth closed.

“You’re seriously gonna pretend that staying here has nothing to do with me? With us?” He tilts his head down close to my face, and I pucker like it’s automatic response my lips have when his lips are remotely close to mine. He pulls back at the last second, and I feel the sweep of his breath against my cheek as he chuckles. “Right. Sorry, Sadie. I’m not buying it.”

I take a quick step back, careful not to put my boot heel down on more ice, and cross my arms, just to keep from wrapping them around him.

Involuntarily, of course.

“Maybe I did think about you when I decided to stay. But my mom basically laid it out for me. She doesn’t want us together.”

His face falls.

“Your mom? Doesn’t want you and me together?” He nods slowly. “Fucking burn, Mrs. J,” he mutters. “I get how she’s proud of you being in college and all, but man, she bitched about that asshole Jace. I never took her to be an elitist.”

I have to tell him. Even though it would be an easy way to drive a wedge between us if I let him believe Mom didn’t think he was good enough, I refuse to sink to that level. I know he looks at my mother as his surrogate mom, and I’m not about to let a misunderstanding ruin that.

“She loves you Trent. The reason she wants us to pull the plug is because she’s worried about me hurting you. It’s not you. It’s me,” I say.

He rolls his eyes. “Damn. You’re pulling out all the stops tonight, aren’t you?”

“That’s the truth,” I insist. “I knew we should probably stop. And then mom just put it out there, plainly, what we were risking. And I agree with her. She said it would be stupid of us to let things get intense if we didn’t have any intention of getting serious.”

“You don’t?” he asks, the words raw and overly loud in the still of the bitter cold night.

I shiver and shift my eyes down. “Trent. C’mon. It was fun. So fun, but you and me? As a couple?”

I try to laugh it off, like it’s this ridiculous idea. Like I’m not constantly thinking about what it would be like. Like I’m not hoping, by some miracle, that it could actually work.

“Why the hell do you keep
doing
that?” he demands, grabbing my hands in his. “Jesus! Your hands are like ice, Sadie. We need to finish this conversation, but we can’t stand out here and talk. Let’s go in.”

I pull my hand away from his.

“Fine. We go in. But...this
is
finished, Trent. There’s no way we’re going to debate the truth away. We mean too much to each other to just do this casual thing and then stop. I can’t stand the thought of it being weird between us. Or weird
er
, anyway.”

He holds his hand up like he’s going to touch me, and this time my entire body strains in his direction, ready for him. Willing him to ignore my totally sensible arguments and do what we both want to do so badly. Again.

And again
.

He leans close to me, his eyes fixed on mine.

“Well, there’s the loophole to your entire damn argument, Sadie,” he says, his voice hard around the soft words. “This has
never
been casual, and it sure as hell isn’t stopping. Not if I have a say in it.”

He grabs me under the arm and walks me to the door and into the house, which is a dizzying jostle of wailing music and laughter layered over the bitter and sweet smell of free flowing beer. Bodies gyrate on the makeshift dancefloor in the enormous living room and press overly, drunkenly close in dark corners, down dim hallways, and even on the grand staircase Mrs. Stinson was always so proud of. 

Trent eyes the kegs and leans close to my ear.

“I’ll be the designated driver, since I’m willing to bet Ella’s already halfway to hammered. If you want a drink, you let me get it. I don’t want you drinking anything that comes from a cup someone handed you.”

“I’m perfectly capable of avoiding date rape, Trent,” I grit back, but he shakes his head.

“This party is random as hell. I’ve already seen a handful of people I pretty regularly run across making deals behind gas station dumpsters. Not a good crowd. You need to watch out.”

He has his hand pressed against my lower back.

I want to slide out of my coat both because it’s a hundred degrees in here and because if I’m only going to get these platonic touches from Trent, I want them to be as intimate as possible. I’m going to try to listen to my mother’s advice, but I can’t quit him cold turkey again. I slide it off my shoulders, and he’s right there to take it as I stuff my hat and scarf down one sleeve.

I turn to face him and he runs his hand roughly over his face.

“Tonight, of all nights, you tell me we need to stop? You’re killing me, Sadie. I swear, you’re going to give me a heart attack.”

I narrow my eyes at him, secretly thrilled that Ella dolled me up.

“You look pretty hearty to me, Toriello. I think you’ll survive.”

We hold eye contact for a few long seconds, then he shakes his head and combs a hand through his hair.

He walks to the keg, grabs a beer, brings it back to me, and says, “Stay put. I’ll put your coat wherever the hell they’re piling them.”

Before I can respond, Trent is weaving his way through the crowds, and I take a sip of beer that’s way too warm.

I don’t see anyone I recognize, but I’m perfectly happy to hang back when an arm curls around my waist.

“Holy shit! Sadie? I had no idea you were stopping by. It’s been a long time. Way too long.”

“Jeremy.”

I turn to face him and he groans.

“How is it possible you got sexier? You ruin the curve for every other girl.”

He pulls back a little, but leaves a hand on my hip.

He and I dated for almost two years off and on back in high school. He did a whole lot more than put his hand on my hip during that time. So it’s not
so
weird that he’s touching me now, even in a way that’s blurring the line between friend and something more.

But I don’t want him pawing at me, especially without even checking to see if I’m okay with it. I notice how weirdly bright his blue eyes are and the way he keeps slurring his words on the last syllable, then smiling that dimpled smile.

“Jeremy. You’re drunk.”

I glance down into my tepid beer and wonder if drinking will make this night better or worse. It’s a toss-up.

“No shit. It’s a party, Sadie.” He smiles a big, goofy smile. “And I’m not drinking that swill, either. It’s good enough for the peasants, but I can get you something better.” He takes the beer out of my hand and passes it off to a stumbling guy who cheers and walks into a wall. “C’mon.”

I look over my shoulder for Trent. It’s taken him a long time to find my coat. Probably because someone noticed him, like Jeremy noticed me. He’s probably making small talk, which is a perfectly normal thing to do at parties.

He didn’t have to rush back to see me. I am not his girlfriend, we’re not together.

I tell myself all this as Jeremy leads me back to the hall that will bring us to his father’s study. He pulls out a key.

“So, he finally gave you a key?” I ask.

His dad’s study was the source of a lot of Jeremy’s angst. It was some kind of pissing contest ‘not until you’re a man’ dictate his father gave him that made him want to have the run of it so badly.

He had to either be invited in or hope his father forgot to lock the window so he could sneak in. And once we were in, he wanted to make out on his dad’s desk and drink Scotch even though it made him cough and wince.

So many memories are flooding back, and I’m not all that impressed with them. There was a good reason I turned Jeremy down when he suggested an ‘open relationship’ before we left for college, and it didn’t have much to do with prudishness on my part.